The Beginning of Life as We Know It

The un-lovliness of love

It has recently been called to my attention that much of, if not most, love goes forever unrequited, a matter of which I though would perhaps be appropriate to address, seeing as how many of if not all humans are wired to seek something they will be unlikely to ever come across.

The mere situation of my circumstance is nearly as unfortunate as that of which I described above, for I can sit and tell you about every unfortunate situation in the universe but I can do nothing to prevent it. However, I can share a story of my own, from which perhaps one soul of the many that read it may take away some message or idea I have supposedly woven into it.

Once upon a time, I was a quiet, respectable child of a certain age, the numeric value of which I will refrain from sharing because it would make my story self no more or less quiet or respectable. Although all adjectives are indefinite, I might have also been described as racist, sexist, homophobic, or other generic terms generally used to describe the close-minded. I remember a time when I felt that my own thoughts, especially those towards my female peers, seemed a betrayal to myself and my God. I won't go too deeply into my spiritual beliefs (that's another chapter,) but I will say that had I not been born with a cross over my cradle I would have had a much easier childhood. I grew up happy, but was never able to wholly be myself. It wasn't until I hit my early teens that I realized why; my first "oh crap" moment came in the form of a middle school crush.

There is a certain sadness to having one's heart broken. It should be noted, however, that this sadness is a thousand times greater when you have to bear it alone. There are countless people who will insist that no one can really fall in love when they're young but I myself will insist back that love knows no age. My love was, unfortunately, requited, though had you asked me at the time I would not have described it as such. It was only that fall, post-relationship, that I realized why so many songs and books and poems exist on the subject of lost lovers; I found myself - my heart - infected with the black ink of depression, perpetually spiraling downward in a series of midnight mental breakdowns.

I won't say that everyone who's ever been dumped experiences this - a few months after, I found myself a boyfriend, but wasn't upset at all when he broke up with me due to my lack of want to fulfill the dream of all teenage boys. But it does seem rather unfair that my first truly romantic experience ended without closure or reassurance that everything would be okay, that we could still be friends - instead of gradually moving on with my life, I was, at least in a metaphorical sense, forced to quit my addiction in a matter of seconds.

That said, why did I even get myself into such a relationship to begin with, when I knew the odds were stacked against my heart? Every day I look back and think that I should have left the words in my mouth, but yet every day some part of me is glad I didn't, glad I got to experience late night I-love-you's piled atop the occasional kiss.